


Bear With Me

by JBK405



Category: The 100 (TV), clexa - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Arranged Marriage, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 22:00:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7139198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JBK405/pseuds/JBK405
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Princess Clarke of Skaikru is arranged to marry King Bellamy of Arkadia, but cannot escape the feelings that she has for Constable Lexa of Arkadia's army.  The socio-political factors that forced their marriage in the first place only complicate matters, as all are internally torn by their duties to themselves and to their people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bear With Me

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a prompt by tumblr user reshopgoufa, and it sorta spun out as people kept adding to it. I couldn't resist.
> 
> Character and relationship tags will be added as the story progresses and they actually get involved.

The carriage bumped and jostled as it traveled along the roadway that lead to the Arkadian border, but compared to the much rougher travels Clarke was used to it almost felt as smooth as sliding along ice.  There was a lot of trade between the people of Skaikru and Arkadia, and had been for generations, so many years ago the two nations had shouldered the financial and labor burden to lay the most heavily trafficked trade routes with cobblestones for easier travel.  Much of Skaikru's own internal roadways were not so laboriously maintained, even those frequently used by the wealthy and powerful, so despite the tension and dread curled up in her belly, Clarke, Princess of Skaikru, began to feel herself slowly dropping off to sleep and did not even realize it until her head lolled to the side and she abruptly jerked herself awake.  Blinking the sleep from her eyes, but keeping her wits about her enough not to rub her face and risk marking her appearance, she shook her head sharply and leaned to the side to glance out the window at the road which stretched out before her and the seemingly endless fields of grain which seemed to smother the path on its sides.

 

Roads and grain.  That was why she was here.

 

Just as she had kept herself from rubbing her eyes before, now Clarke forced herself to keep from frowning as the thoughts circled in her mind.  She had fought and argued, presented her reasoning with cold logic and later broken down into near hysterics when it seemed as though no one would listen, but the matter had been settled and now she had to maintain the proper image.  Present the correct visage.  She was on her way to marry, being conveyed to the ceremony that would elevate her from a 'merely' a Princess to a Queen, and she could not arrive with smudged makeup or new crinkles in her skin.  She had a duty, a responsibility, and an obligation to play the role.  So, even though she was a glorified  _gift_ , being presented to Arkadia as a symbol of unity and a tightening of relations, and even though she had resisted the decision with everything short of her own two fists, she knew she could not do anything to actually interfere.

 

Outside she could hear the sounds of the horses slowing, the soldiers of her escort speaking in loud voices and being responded to in kind--the border station of Arkadia she thought--and then there was the usual jangle and indistinct noises of people shifting and formations changing as her own guards were joined by some of the Arkadians for the remainder of the journey.  A few moments later their speed picked up again and the carriage resumed its previous measure of jolts and shakes; during the entire interplay neither her own guards nor the Arkadians had attempted to speak with her, nor even just given her an update as to what was occurring.  She knew that it would likely take until the end of the day to reach Arkadia's capital, and in all that time she knew she would only see anybody at all when a rider happened to stray in front of her window, or a serving-girl stuck her head into the carriage to deliver her food at mealtimes, or when she left the carriage for the daily requirements of the body.  Other than that, she would be alone, kept isolated and protected.

 

"It is not appropriate to remove a present from its box before its time," she said, but only to herself.

* * *

 

Clarke started awake again as she she felt the carriage slow to a complete halt, surprised to find that this time she had actually slipped clear away into sleep, and glanced out her window to realize that they had arrived.  The ramparts of the Gonakru castle loomed before them, and Clarke could see a procession forming to receive her.  In her waking daze she nearly panicked and reached up to feel her makeup and hair to make sure she had not disturbed anything while she slept, but caught herself just in time with the realization that that would  **cause** the mess she hoped to look for, and instead quickly brought out the small looking glass she had managed to secret within her bodice after her mother had told her that she was not allowed to carry it openly.  Glancing over her appearance, she saw that nothing had been disturbed, but internally she quailed and could not bring herself to say that she was  **happy** with how she looked.  So much makeup, such intricate hair styling, layers of garments over yet more layers of garments; even when she attended Court she had not been been forced to don  **so much** in the way of accessories and she instinctively drew back from the face staring back at her.  Still, despite her own dissatisfaction she knew her appearance would please everybody else, so she returned her glass to where she had hidden it and turned to face the door for her debarkation.  Nobody had warned her the time was approaching, but they would expect her to be ready regardless, so she would wait patiently for the Skaikru Fanfare and the signal for her to emerge.

 

As she turned, though, her eyes caught sight of one of the soft, velvet wraps that lay scattered about the carriage.  Normally they were used to cover the windows when the passengers wanted to shut out the outside world, or as pillows or small blankets, but in a sudden surge of determination Clarke grabbed the nearest one and draped it over her head.  She was careful, not displacing even a single braid and holding it away from the thick layers of cream upon her face, but in seconds she had completely swathed herself, until she could see the world only through the haze of thin fabric.

 

"After all," she said aloud to the empty carriage, "If I am to be a present, I must be properly wrapped," and behind the shroud she grinned to herself.  Then she heard the clear, loud horn calls of the Skaikru Fanfare, and she turned to face the carriage's door just in time for it be pulled open and an armored hand to be extended just beyond the door's frame.

 

"Your Highness," came the voice which belonged to the armored hand, and Clarke wondered at what soldier had been chosen to receive the honor of escorting her to the new King.  His voice was much lighter than she had expected, probably belonging to a youth even younger than herself, and she briefly went back and forth on whether he was simply the son of some well-positioned courtier who had used influence to get him the role, or if he had performed some unprecedented act of heroism at his young age to merit the honor.  Nothing that she could see of his hand could answer the question, so she internally shrugged her shoulders and reached out to take the offered assistance.  She would have plenty of time in this land to learn the answer.

 

Stepping down from the carriage--grateful for the soldier's assistance given the cumbersome outfit she was wearing--Clarke could spare him only a fleeting glance before she looked past the waiting procession of nobles to see Bellamy, Heir of House Blake, King of Arkadia, waiting for her.  Through the obscuring fabric hanging before her eyes she could only identify him by his central position amongst the nobles, but the King's position was still unmistakable, and when she looked at him Clarke felt...nothing.  No love, no lust, no affection, no fondness, and on the other side not even disgust or hatred.  He was just... **there**.  That was why Clarke had fought so hard against the proposed marriage, why she had railed and ranted against being bound to King Bellamy for the rest of her life, and why it had cut so hard when her mother and Minister Kane had both eventually overruled her and sealed the deal by Royal Fiat; she did not even  _know_ King Bellamy.  She had met him once or twice in her childhood--he had actually been raised in Skaikru after his mother had returned home to care for  **her** mother-- but those had been nothing more than passing, meaningless pleasantries between children.  Since he had returned to Arkadia they had not conversed, nor corresponded with letters, nor even passed messages through the apparently endless chain of noble rumor-mongers.  He was as much a stranger to her as any of the wild, savage people who lived beyond Arkadia's far border.   **Arkadia** , however, was far more familiar, to her and Skaikru both.

 

The two nations had been allies for almost as long as they had once been enemies.  They were each other's largest trading partners and closest military supporters; their people had been mixing for so long that even their languages had blended together, and more than one Minister had entertained thoughts of formally uniting the two kingdoms into one, especially since their royal bloodlines had so often merged.  So, when King Bellamy had finally come of age and needed a suitable bride, Clarke was the obvious choice.  The fact that they knew nothing of each other was irrelevant, they were simply perfect for each other; similar ages, proper breeding, compatible background....who could possibly object?

 

Gritting her teeth, Clarke had to bite back the impulse to snarl that  **she** objected, and she only realized that she had been clenching her hands into fists when she noticed the soldier beside her twitch ever-so-slightly.  Forcing herself back into control, Clarke resumed the measured, steady pace that she had been taught, and allowed herself to be escorted by the soldier to the steps before the King's raised dais.  The soldier released her hand, bowed to both her and King, then withdrew, and Clarke faced Bellamy alone (Discounting the throngs observing all around).  Dropping herself into a low curtsy, and trusting in the improvised veil to help obscure any emotion that managed to leak through her self control, Clarke bowed her head and said simply, "Your Majesty".

 

"Your Highness," came the terse response, and though Clarke could not read any emotion in his voice at all, she quietly hoped that he was a little discomfited by her veil.  It was a small thing, but it deviated from the plan, from what was expected, from how things were **supposed to go** , and she took a devilish glee in even this small piece of rebellion.  She expected him to ask--or even demand--that she remove it, but instead he simply continued with "Welcome to Gonakru, and Arkadia".

 

"Thank you, Your Majesty."  That was all she was permitted to say.  Later, after they had been wed, she would be allowed to speak to the King in public, even carry on a conversation, but she had been told quite explicitly to follow the simple script for this first meeting.

 

"Your courtiers and attendants arrived as expected, and all is in accordance.  Our wedding shall take place in two days."  Maybe she was reading into things, but it seemed to Clarke that maybe Bellamy was as upset with the situation as she was; this was not the eloquent, intricate speech she had been told to expect.

 

"Yes, Your Majesty," Clarke said, and through her veil she thought that she might have seen Bellamy blanch.  But she also might not have.

 

"Good.  Constable Lexa will escort you to your chambers.  Good evening."  With barely a nod of farewell, the King spun on his heel and strode back into the castle, followed by his attendants and assistants, and leaving Clarke surrounded only by her own attendants and those who had come to watch the first meeting.

 

"Your Highness?"  The voice was the same as before, calling from the side, and Clarke turned to make out the vague shape of the soldier who had escorted her from the carriage.  "May I show you to your room?"

 

"You may," Clarke said, and followed behind as she was lead into the castle by a different route than the King had taken.  Her earlier curiosity regarding this soldier came back; if this was the Lexa that the King had referred to, how could a boy so young be a Constable?  No single instance of heroism could merit such a position, the responsibility of commanding the armed forces of Arkadia, and if he turned out to just be a relative of somebody in power, why wouldn't they have procured some less-hazardous position for him?  Through her veil she could only make out the vaguest of indistinct features, and for the first time she felt a minor regret for her last-minute decision, as she had always enjoyed trying to piece together the lives of people from the small clues she could decipher about their person.  No matter.  As she had told herself earlier, she would have plenty of time for mental puzzles.  The rest of her life, in fact.

 

"Here we are, Your Highness," presumed-to-be-Lexa said, leading Clarke to to the open doors of a grand bedroom.  He seemed to know his way around the castle, at least, so he had probably been serving in some capacity for years now.  "Your attendants will be waiting for you inside.  There will be a guard outside your chambers and my station is down the hall; if you have any need, the guard can send for me."  Even through the veil Clarke could tell that he wanted to say something else, but he seemed to sense her own reticence, so instead he simply bowed his head and took a step back.  "Good evening, Your Highness."

 

Stepping inside her new chambers, Clarke looked around, but once again the fabric of her veil kept her from distinguishing anything of detail.  Well, now that the arrival ceremony had been completed it was hardly necessary anymore, and just inside the doors she reached up and pulled it from her head, letting it drop to the floor and taking a dramatically deep breath.  She was about to continue removing the enveloping cage she had borne all day, but she remembered that she had not dismissed the Constable, and until he had been told to leave he would in all likelihood continue to stand in the same spot.  "Thank you, Constable, for all of your help."  She turned to face the boy, about to add "You are dismissed," when she realized that Lexa was not the child she had thought.  Not what she had thought at all.

 

Lexa was young, yes, but no younger than herself; the voice was soft and light not because he was a boy still entering his manhood, but rather instead because it was a woman who stood before her.  Clad in armor and holding herself as straight and disciplined as any Constable Clarke had otherwise seen, her soft features were nonetheless unmistakable, and her long hair was braided almost as intricately as Clarke's own and draped over a single shoulder.  As Clarke had expected she was still in the same position she had been in when she had said 'good evening', and for a breathless eternity Clarke took in the sight of her standing before her before she nodded her own head and said "You are dismissed."

 

Nodding one final time, so deeply as to almost be a bow, Constable Lexa drew the doors closed and left Princess Clarke alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the thing: The bit with the veil was NOT introduced to keep Clarke in the dark about Lexa until the end of the chapter. I swear. I included that because that is the source of the chapter title, which came from the 2006 film _Tristan & Isolde_, wherein Isolde did the same thing when her father offered her hand in marriage to the winner of a tournament.
> 
> The fact that it lead to Clarke mistaking Lexa for a young man just worked out that.


End file.
